


The Rape of Lock

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6188047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thiefshipping AU where Bakura is a hairstylist. Thiefshipping/AU/Mature fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rape of Lock

*****I really, really wanted to go over this again for errors, but stuff happened and editing time went away, so I'm sorry for any typos.*****

* * *

Bakura twisted his hair into a knot, using a chopstick to keep it in place. He flipped one of his unruly front spikes to the side and fluffed them together to look like he'd parted it that way on purpose. After slipping on a pair a rectangular, thick framed glasses, he stared at his reflection.

"Tch, whatever," he muttered to himself, irritated with his _horns_. It was Monday. He needed coffee.

He left his studio without a jacket. A warm breeze speckled the air with sakura petals. Bakura watched as the blossoms swirled around the high heels and sneakers of pedestrians as they went about their Monday routines. He swung into a coffee shop, grabbing an Americano - black, black like his soul please - and then finished walking the two blocks it took him to get to the salon. He'd spent the last three years building up a customer base and could finally afford small luxuries, like Americanos, instead of always wondering how he'd pay his bills each month. He never wanted another cup of ramen as long as he lived.

Bakura reached into his pocket, grabbing his key while taking a hot, bitter sip of coffee. He noticed a man standing in front of the salon. Bakura admired the long mess of gold hair; it hid the man's profile. This stranger's body language was impatient and irritated. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a foot tapping against the sidewalk.

He happened to glance over his shoulder and notice Bakura. He spun around, cementing his hands to his hips. "It's about time. I've been waiting for twenty minutes."

"Okay," Bakura said in a dry, unimpressed voice. "Shop doesn't open for another thirty, so that's not my problem, and I don't remember you having an appointment."

"Well, you accept walk-ins, don't you?" the blonde stranger snapped.

Bakura blinked. For the first time in his life he was too aggravated to snap back. He simply stared at the man as if he were something impossible like a griffin or a manticore. "When I have time."

The man spread out his arms, gesturing to the empty patch of sidewalk. "Looks like you have time to me."

Bakura held up a hand, shutting his eyes and smirking. He liked to smirk when he was pissed enough to snap a cute, but stupid, diva's neck. "I'm sorry, but you need to get the fuck away from me, so I can open the door. Come back during business hours if you want a haircut."

"You've got to be kidding me? I'm a paying customer!"

"Go to a barber shop." Bakura smirked again, looking up at the blonde.

"As if! Oh my god, could you imagine what they'd do to my hair?" The blonde combed his fingers through his honey locks as if to prove a point.

"Look sweetie, I'm a hairstylist, not a pair of ruby slippers. You don't get to click your heels three times and make a wish. I don't care how much money you have."

Bakura smacked a sign hanging within the window. It read _We reserve the right to turn down any customer for any reason. Have a nice day, fuckwads._

The blonde snorted. "Classy."

Bakura shrugged, again waiting for the brat to leave so he could open shop.

The blonde stared at him for a moment, bangs hiding the top half of his face. He frowned. The realization that Bakura truly didn't give a fuck finally dawned on him. He took a deep breath and exhaled, as if attempting to get a reign on his temper.

"Look," he said. "Sorry, I know you're technically not opened yet, but could you squeeze me in, anyway? I have a very important job interview in a few hours and every other hair salon on this side of Domino opens an hour or two later." He flashed a charming smile. "I'll make sure to tip you for your trouble."

"You're a manipulative fuck, anyone ever tell you that?"

A real grin overtook the blonde's face. "No one's ever mentioned it before."

"They're probably too stupid to notice." Bakura sighed, rolling his eyes. Getting rid of the pest wouldn't be easy, and a haircut took less time than calling the police. "Whatever. Get your flat ass in here before my coffee kicks in and I realized I made a mistake."

"Flat? Excuse me? It's not like you're a ten."

Bakura opened the door and allowed the stranger inside. He started hitting the lights. "Please, on a scale from 1-10, I'm a goddamn ferris wheel."

The stranger laughed. "If _you're_ a ferris wheel, then I'm an entire theme park."

"Yeah, Trick Land."

"You're a fucking asshole. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Bakura smirked. "It does sound familiar, not that I tend to remember what the plebs say."

The blonde rolled his eyes. "Can I just sit in a chair and get this over with?"

"No, you can fucking stand there until I'm ready. You're making me rush opening up as it is."

The stranger huffed, returning to his earlier pose of crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot. Bakura snorted, hitting the radio on to drown out the sound of Marik's tapping foot. Adele started playing, and the song seemed to calm him.

"She's a delight, isn't she?" Bakura commented, almost done setting up the register and getting everything in order.

"I guess." He shrugged, trying to act indifferent, but Bakura noticed the way his hips betrayed a slight sway in time with the beat.

For a second he forgot that he hated the annoying brat, watching his hips move and unconsciously licking his lips. Bakura shook his head to clear his thoughts, flipping a clipboard to face the brat. "Sign in."

"Why?" He gestured again to the fact that they were alone.

"It's policy."

"Tch." He swayed more than walked to the front counter to scrawl _Marik Ishtar_ on the paper.

"Okay, follow me." Bakura lead Marik to the hair washing station.

"Is this necessary? I'm in a hurry."

"I don't cut dirty hair."

"My hair isn't dirty you fucking bastard!"

Bakura laughed at the outburst. "I also want it wet." He sighed. "Just sit back and relax. This is the best part, trust me."

Marik dropped into the chair, arms crossed again. "Like I'd ever trust you."

"You better trust me. I'm about to take stainless steel to that honey dripping from your skull, and it you flinch and fuck up your hair - it ain't my problem."

"Just wash my damn hair already."

"Lean back," Bakura ordered, adjusting Marik's chair so his head was positioned just above the sink and wrapping a cape over Marik's body.

With a sprayer, Bakura made sure Marik's hair was evenly wet, and then lathered shampoo into his palms. As he started to work the lather into the strands of gold, he was surprised at how thick and luxurious Marik's hair felt against Bakura's fingers. He'd washed a thousand heads of hair, but he'd never felt something so rich and soft.

He always incorporated a scalp massage into his shampoos to make his customers feel pampered, but Bakura found himself spending longer than normal kneading Marik's head. A soft sigh escaped Marik's lips as he sank into the chair. Bakura used his thumbs to rub Marik's temples and hairline, careful to keep the bubbles away from Marik's eyes.

The passing of time struck Bakura, and he knew he'd have appointments before too long, so he went back into business mode and rinsed Marik's hair. He expected a retort about taking too long, but Marik's face was calm and he breathed through parted lips.

Bakura grinned as he wrung out Marik's hair. "Hey stupid, did you fall asleep?"

"Hmmm?" Marik asked, more dozing than waking.

Bakura hit a lever on Marik's chair to make him snap up to an upright position.

"What the fuck? Your shitty chair almost gave me whiplash."

"Quit being a drama queen and move over there." Bakura pointed to his booth where he cut hair.

"Better a drama queen than a drag queen," Marik snapped as he switched seats.

"Oh-ho-ho!" Bakura shouted, being a bit of a drama queen himself as he grabbed a hair dryer. "Do I detect a little bit of jealousy over the fact that my cheekbones are more defined than yours?"

"Why would I care? My lips are fuller."

Bakura leaned forward. "I have a stronger chin."

"I have a better nose."

"I have longer legs!"

"I have lavender eyes!"

"Bullshit." Bakura snatched a comb and flipped the bangs out of Marik's eyes. "Holy shit, you have lavender eyes."

"Wow, it's like I just said that."

"Well . . . uh - I have a Prince Albert!"

"No you don't." Marik snorted.

Bakura grinned. "Yes I do."

"I don't believe you. Show me."

"I'm not going to whip out my dick before cutting your hair. That violates health codes or something."

"Didn't it _hurt_?"

"Like hell."

"You're crazy."

Bakura shrugged, resting his thumb on the hair dryer switch and reminding himself to hurry. "What can I say? I like blow jobs, and it lures in the gentlemen."

"Then on second thought, don't show it to me."

Bakura shrugged. "To be fair, it's still not as impressive as lavender eyes."

Marik gave Bakura a wicked smile. "Then I guess I win."

Bakura smirked, Marik won alright, a hot shot of blowdryer air to his face. He laughed as Marik winced, but then used the blowdryer to get Marik's hair to where it was damp, but not dripping wet. Then he took a black comb and started drag it down Marik's golden hair.

They settled into silence as he worked, but Bakura's hair dresser instincts took over and he started the conversation again. "What's the interview?"

"It's just a random HR position, but I figure I can always move up."

"You do seem like the type that knows how to climb a ladder." Bakura grabbed his scissors.

"Okay, so what I want is- what the fuck!"

Bakura took an entire lock off before Marik had a chance to speak. "See, this is how this works, I'm an artist and you're the canvas. The canvas doesn't decide what the painting gets to look like."

Marik's mouth dropped; his entire face blushed with ire. "I didn't want that much taken off!"

"I know, but like I said before, you have to trust me."

"Trust you? I"m going to kill you!"

"The damage has been done, Marik. No use crying over it." Bakura chuckled.

"Don't use my name like we're friends, bitch, and don't expect to get paid, either."

Bakura brought his face close to Marik's. "We'll see about that." Bakura licked the blade of his scissor and returned to his cutting.

Mariks scrunched up his face. "That's disgusting. That's worse than showing me your dick - at least hair wouldn't get in your mouth."

Bakura chuckled as waves of gold floated down to the floor.

"Stop. Stop it right now. I'm leaving."

"Are you?" Bakura asked. "With chunks missing from your hair? Are you going to walk around like that and try and find another salon open this early in the morning?"

Marik frowned, he looked near tears. "I really do hate you."

"Yes, yes, I'm a regular Delilah. You're going to look amazing when I'm through with you."

"If you're some kind of mad scientist hair dresser then you need to at least _warn_ people first. As soon as I can reach my phone I'm getting on Google reviews and flaming the fuck out of this place."

"Just post a picture in the review so I can get a few more customers."

"You vain fuck. You're really so full of yourself that you think what you're doing is justified?"

"Yes," Bakura answered without hesitation. He was almost done, using his comb more and taking smaller cuts.

He _had_ rather scalped Marik, leaving enough length on the top to spike it into an attractive mess, but getting everything away from those fucking marvelous eyes of his. Bakura couldn't understand how the bastard could let his hair grow so long and cover up his features so much. By the time Bakura was done, he was biting his cheek in order not to confess on how drop dead gorgeous Marik was, goddamn. He brushed Marik off with a hand-brush and spun the chair around.

Marik flinched, refusing to look. "I hate you, you fucking son of a bitch, as soon as I open my eyes I'm going to jump up from this chair and kick your fucking ass."

"Well, let's get on with it. Neither of us have all day."

Marik flung open his eyes and flinched- then he started. He stared at himself in silence.

For a moment, Bakura's heart fluttered in his chest. Marik's expression was a bronze mask and he couldn't read if he liked (or hated) what Bakura had done to his hair. "Well? Are we going to fight now?"

Marik stared at the floor. "No. We're cool."

Bakura exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "So, do you trust me now?"

"Maybe with hair cutting. You're still an asshole."

"Yes. That's true." Bakura stepped up to Marik, dragging his fingers against Marik's cheeks and chin. "You should let me give you a shave. You're still not fit for an interview." Bakura grinned. "Tell you what- on the house because of the scare."

Marik glared at him, dangerous and sexy with his new hair cut. He exhaled a frustrated breath, as if giving up. "Fine, whatever, as long as it's on the house."

Bakura swept up and started to prepare a warm towel. "This is actually my specialty. I'm good with scissors, but a god with a straight razor."

"Ego much?"

"I'm stating a fact."

Half a grin toyed with Marik's lips. "I guess our trust level just jumped, if I'm now dumb enough to let you put a razor blade against my throat."

Bakura thought that he'd like to put his lips up against Marik's throat, and then quickly shoved the thought away. He was working, and he hated the brat. He wrapped the towel around Marik's face, relaxing him once again and allowing Marik's pores to open up from the steam of the towel. With a beaver-haired brush, Bakura worked up a good lather in a dish, and then he took out his pride and joy- a steel blade with a onyx handle. He stropped the edge along his leather strop, and then removed the towel from Marik's face in order to lather him.

Bakura had steady hands and even strokes and the shave didn't take long. He finished by patting a vanilla-rum aftershave into Marik's skin and then massaging a matching lotion into Marik's face and throat.

"You're really good at this," Marik whispered.

Bakura stayed close, sucking in the smell of the aftershave on Marik's skin- he'd chosen his favorite to smell on another man. He whispered into Marik's ear. "Yes. I know."

Then it was over, and Bakura had to pull away. It was a shame, but it was also a relief to get the brat out of his shop- and life- forever.

He exhaled, strolling over to his cash register and scanning codes for the hair wash, the cut, and the styling. "Sixty-five even."

Marik handed Bakura a debit card. "That's actually not bad."

"Well, don't expect a free shave every time." Bakura snatched the card from Marik's hand and swiped it.

Marik smirked, stealing his card back. "What about the shampoo?"

Bakura snorted, glancing at the pot of ivy near the register. "Oh, now he likes the shampoo. He was bitching about it earlier." His eyes flicked towards Marik. "Yes. That's included."

Marik raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a business card?"

Bakura tapped the card holder near the plant. "You better go. I'm sick of looking at you."

"Sure you are." Marik signed the receipt, winking as he slid it across the counter, and walked out of the store.

Bakura shoved the paper into his register without looking at the tip, swearing it wouldn't be enough, regardless of how much, to ever have to put up with Marik Ishtar again.

* * *

Friday was welcomed and necessary. Bakura wanted to wear black, and taste vodka, and listen to loud music as he cast aside the hum-drum of the week aside for the chance to dance until he stumbled back to his own bed and into oblivion. Instead of a careless knot, Bakura sculpted his hair into a fashionable twist, taming his horns with mousse until the top of his head was smooth. Paired with the glasses, the hairstyle made him look aloof and detatched, which was the look Bakura prefered.

He had to lay on his mattress to squeeze into the black leather pants he wore, but it was worth it when he glanced at his ass in his vanity mirror. Once he added the rest of his outfit, Bakura was ready to wreak havoc at the club. As always, he walked, a switchblade in his pocket and a

butterfly knife in his boot were all the protection he needed. The line was long and tedious, but Bakura played Final Fantasy on his cell until it was his turn to be patted down and tagged with a 21+ bracelet.

He ordered a Fireball and slammed it before mingling into the crowd. He didn't have a plan. The club was full of well-toned, sweating bodies, and Bakura didn't mind when the occasional brush of skin caught his bare arms. He was considering a second drink since none of the guys were catching his eye at the moment. Then someone jostled him from behind.

"Watch it asshole!" Someone shouted at Bakura from behind.

Bakura spun, ready to start something, and then smirked. "Fuck. You."

Marik blinked for a second and then raised his eyebrows. "Small world, asshole."

"You know, you say it like a pet name. Careful, I'll get attached."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Anyway, _you_ bumped into _me_ , so you owe me a drink."

"You were in the way, so _you_ owe _me_ a drink."

"Buy me mine first then I'll buy you yours." Bakura winked.

Marik rolled his eyes, but he headed towards the bar. Bakura grinned. He hadn't thought it'd be so easy. He had a policy against fraternizing with the customers, but Marik wasn't really a customer, he was a one-time walk-in and full-time annoyance, so he didn't really count.

Marik came back with two screw drivers, and Bakura slammed the second drink as quickly as the first. Marik raised an eyebrow, grinned, and copied Bakura. The chunked the plastic cups in a trash bin, and Bakura went to get round three.

"So? Are we going to dance between drinks?" Marik shouted over the speakers as he shot the 151 Bakura brought him.

"I guess. Cheaper." Bakura nudged Marik towards the center of the floor.

They stood close, the club was too crowded for personal space. Marik's shirt was nowhere near long enough to cover his stomach, and Bakura's eyes kept trailing down to admire the warm, spiced-colored skin.

"Another round?" Marik asked.

"Your turn," Bakura answered.

The drinks caught up quick. They still danced, trying to work the booze out of their systems, but Bakura had to drape his arms across Marik's shoulders to stand upright. He was shorter and slighter and the alcohol was probably hitting him harder, but he refused to admit it. Besides, he didn't mind being slung against Marik as they danced. They kept brushing their hips together. Bakura bit his lower lip. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they kept shutting as he leaned into Marik's neck and inhaled the smell of sweat and a cologne that was good, but not as good as the aftershave Bakura had used on him.

"Hey?" Marik asked, almost laughing as he said the single word.

"What?" Bakura blinked his eyes opened and looked up at Marik.

"Are you going to show it to me?"

"Show what? More drinks?"

That made Marik fully laugh. "No, your piercing. I want to see it."

"Which one?" Bakura asked, a little too fuzzy to remember their conversation from the other morning.

Marik pushed against Bakura's groin with his own, and Bakura's eyes widened at the sensation. He wanted out of his too tight pants.

"Oh . . ." he thought about it for a moment. The liquor kept his mind easy and slow, but he could still think. Did he _want_ to? Hell yeah. Why not? "Okay. I live close by."

"I have my motorcycle."

"Really?" Bakura asked. "Can I see the keys?"

Marik game him a fuzzy look and then handed over a key ring.

"Thanks." Bakura pocketed it in his jacket pocket with his switchblade.

"Hey! Those are mine!"

"They sure are, and I'll give them to you in the morning, idiot." Bakura dragged him out of the club.

Marik pouted when they walked through the parking lot. "Why did you take my keys?"

"Because you were going to drive us to my house, stupid."

"So what?"

Bakura growled. He realized his drunken sex fantasies were about to crash into a night of babysitting. "Do you play cards?"

Marik shrugged. "Yeah, I'm pretty good."

"Let's go play some cards."

Marik didn't argue. He shivered, wearing only a short, sleeveless top. Bakura sighed, taking off his jacket and putting it on Marik. The other didn't even realize he could have stolen his keys back. He just grinned and snuggled deeper into Bakura's jacket.

Once in Bakura's apartment, Marik sank to the couch and nuzzled one of Bakura's throw cushions. "Everything smells like you."

"Yeah, imagine that. It's my place and everything smells like me."

"Quit being an asshole for five minutes. I'm in too good a mood."

Bakura smiled despite himself. He went into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water, chugging one and passing the other one to Marik. He then found his cards and started shuffling.

"Here." Marik snatched the cards from Bakura's hands. He spread the cards out along the coffee table and and then piled them back together in two smooth motions. He did the same with several shapes, a fan, a box, another line.

"When'd you learn to do that?"

"I worked at a Casino in Luxor. I just got hired at the one here in Domino."

"I thought you said HR?"

"Yeah. HR for the Domino Casino. I haven't ran a blackjack table in years."

"Damn. I'm going to get my ass handed to me, aren't I?"

Marik looked up and winked, dealing the cards for 5 stud poker. "Let's make it strip poker."

"Sure," Bakura said, sitting in a chair next to the sofa. "It's not like you're going to remember a damn thing tomorrow morning."

"I will too!"

"Uh-huh." Bakura set four cards down to be replaced.

Marik stared at them. "Really?"

Bakura shrugged.

Marik changed out Bakura's hand and switched out two of his own cards. He looked disinterested at his hand, setting down three fives. Bakura snorted, putting a flush on the table. Marik frowned at Bakura's hand as if he didn't believe it, then kicked off his shoes.

When they were each down to their last piece- Marik his boxers and Bakura his pants- Marik tried cheating. Bakura saw through it, and insisted Marik take a penalty, which was having to put on one of Bakura's old, comfortable t-shirts. He fussed, but in the end allowed Bakura to toss the shirt over his head. His golden hair was a mess, but it only made Marik look more alluring somehow- which pissed Bakura off.

By the time Marik was in Bakura's t-shirt, he lay on his side, snuggling with Bakura's pillow again, and fell asleep. Bakura snorted, dropped a fleece blanket over Marik, and sat back in his chair, playing Final Fantasy on his phone once again. He was too wired to sleep, and so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't realize when two hours went by and Marik woke up.

"Why am I wearing your shirt?" Marik asked.

"Because you were too drunk to fuck," Bakura said, not bothering looking up from his phone.

Marik held his forehead and shook his head. He stood up and stumbled away from the couch.

"That's the wrong way. The bathroom is down the other hall," Bakura called, still staring at his game. He was waiting to level up.

"Thanks," Marik muttered as he changed course.

Bakura heard the toilet flushing and the sink running, and a moment later Marik appeared again. Now that his black mage was level 50, he looked up. "Aspirin?"

"Yeah." Marik nodded.

Bakura nodded, put his phone on the charger, and went into the kitchen to brew coffee and fetch two aspirins. Bakura called into the living room "Cream?"

"No, black!" Marik shouted.

Bakura nodded in approval as he poured two cups. He gave Marik a cup and the two aspirin and then sat back down in his chair.

"Thanks," Marik spoke into his cup.

Bakura snorted, but it was good natured.. "You're so high maintenance."

"I still want to see your piercing," He said, staring at Bakura with bright lavender eyes.

"It's four in the morning."

"Well, I've had a nap."

"You're still drunk."

"Barely."

Bakura felt the weight of Marik's stare on his chest and he couldn't breathe. Marik finished his coffee and stood up, steady on his feet now. He avoided the coffee table and knelt in front of Bakura in his chair, looking up. "Well?"

Bakura stared at Marik, nodding his head. Marik reached out and undid the silver buttons to Bakura's pants. Bakura shifted his hips up, allowing Marik to peel the leather down, bunching it around Bakura's ankles. He kicked the pants away, taking his cock and stroking it. "It looks better hard."

"They usually do." Marik smirked.

"I meant the piercing." He continued to stroke himself, finding that it took little time to get hard when Marik was staring at him like a hungry lion.

Marik grabbed Bakura's cock so he could admire the two silver balls protruding from the head. "I like it." He looked up. "Goes well with the nipple rings."

Bakura stuck out his tongue, showing that it, too, was pierced. Marik shook his head, as if Bakura were crazy for letting someone shove a needle through his cock and tongue. He reached out his own tongue and flicked it over one of the tiny, silver balls. Bakura's breath hitched, and his fingers dug into the upholstery.

"That's right. You like blow jobs, don't you?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Bakura shut his eyes and nodded. Marik gave Bakura's tip another seductive lick. "Well, you did come to my rescue when I needed a haircut, and then again when I was too drunk to realize that I couldn't drive home, so I guess I owe you."

"You remember that? I was sure you were past blackout at that point."

"I always remember everything." Marik gave Bakura's head a longer, slower lick.

Bakura tossed his head back with that one, sucking in a sharp breath. Marik started circling his tongue around Bakura's tip, and teasing up and down the shaft with his fingers. Bakura lifted up one leg and slung it over the arm of the chair so that his legs were spread further apart. Marik used the extra space to lean closer and take Bakura's head between his lips. Bakura groaned, shameless, hips hitching up into Marik's mouth.

Marik slid down and then up. Each time his lips slipped a little lower down Bakura's shaft until Marik was swallowing everything from base to tip. Bakura bit his bottom lip, repressing his moans for as long as he could, but when Marik fondled his balls while still sucking, Bakura couldn't hold back further and shouted at the ceiling.

Bakura couldn't stop his hips from jerking upward. The faster Marik moved, the faster Bakura's hips rose to meet Marik's wanting mouth until Bakura held his breath, shaking as he came. He tried to ask Marik if he wanted a tissue to spit in, but he realized Marik had swallowed and that made Bakura's pink, flushed cheeks turn a little darker coral.

Marik pulled back, wiped spit from his chin, and grinned. Bakura wanted to say something sarcastic, but he didn't have the breath to waste. Bakura nudged his head towards his bedroom, raising his eyebrows to ask Marik if he wanted to go.

Marik nodded his head and Bakura led the way. In Bakura's room, Marik reached and tried to pull the stick out of Bakura's hair. Bakura grabbed his wrist to stop him. "I never said I'd show you my hair."

"Won't the stick get in the way?" Marik asked.

Bakura snorted, crawling onto the bed on all fours and glancing over his shoulder at Marik. "Lube is in the nightstand drawer."

"Okay." Marik found the bottle and started to prep Bakura. "I don't see what the big deal is, though."

"I keep it up for a reason, okay? Leave it at that."

"Whatever you want." Marik ended the conversation by easing into Bakura's asshole.

Bakura gasped at the broad, filling sensation spreading him open. He pushed back to meet Marik as he slid in. When Marik pulled back, Bakura squeezed tighter, relaxing again as Marik pushed back inside.

"You're better at this than cards." Bakura laughed, but it was breathless, almost flirty.

"I almost beat you."

"I don't think so- ah!" Bakura sentence ended with a shout as Marik slammed in.

His pace was slow, but damn hard, and Bakura shoved his face into his pillow, screaming into the cotton. Each thrust was magic against Bakura's prostate and he wished he hadn't commed already because the continuous ramming was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. "Holy- fuck- Marik- fuck!"

"That's right," Marik agreed with Bakura's nonsense screaming.

Bakura answered with another curse flung into his pillow. Marik's hips continued to thrust forward, their bodies made loud smacking sounds each time they came together, and Bakura was undone by it all. He reached between his legs and stroked himself. He was only half hard and still recovering, but he wanted the feeling of his hand on his cock and Marik's repeated thrusts continued to make his nerves feel like they were on fire.

Marik sped up, faster- faster- faster- and then he screamed Bakura's name, before leaning against Bakura's back.

Bakura lifted his head up from his pillow. "Fuck."

Marik gasped in reply. He eased out a final time and dropped onto the mattress. "Do you work tomorrow?"

Bakura shrugged, sitting up. "Not until one."

"Can I stay?" Marik looked away. "Or I could call a cab."

Bakura shrugged. "You can stay. I'm going to take a shower real quick."

Bakura got up, showered and put his hair into a loose knot. When he went back to his room he saw Marik fast asleep. Bakura sighed. "I meant on the couch, you spoiled brat."

Too tired and satisfied to care, Bakura crawled next to Marik, claimed half the blanket for himself, and went to sleep.

* * *

Six weeks passed since the unusual morning in which Bakura met Marik, and now Bakura found himself smiling at his appointment schedule. Marik had scheduled an appointment fives minutes before the shop opened to be an asshole, but Bakura went ahead and told him to come- the sooner he could get rid of the brat the better, right? They'd hooked up two more times at the club. It had somehow become an understanding between them that if they saw each other at the club, they were going home together. Although, they had fewer drinks than the first time.

The bell rang as the door opened and Bakura looked up, grinning. "I see you couldn't stay away."

"You're an asshole, but you can cut hair."

"I think you wanted an excuse to see me."

"Pffft, as if. I just need a trim." He went and sat in near the sink as if he owned the shop.

Bakura sauntered over to him. "Or maybe you just wanted my fingers running through your hair."

Marik winked. "I don't have to pay you for that."

Bakura shoved Marik's head into the sink with a little more force than necessary, but not enough to hurt him. He went about his usual routine of rinsing and lathering and massaging.

"That's soooo good," Marik moaned.

"Keep it to yourself. This is a place of business." Bakura chuckled.

"Whatever, you love it."

Bakura leaned close to Marik as he massaged his temples. "I believe you're the one in love right now."

"Only with what your fingers can do."

"Good enough." Bakura rinsed Marik's hair.

The time sped by. Marik didn't need much hair cut the second time, so they were done after forty-five minutes. Bakura gestured to the mirror. "You're gorgeous. Get the fuck out of my shop now."

"What? No shave?"

"Not for free." Bakura rested a hand on his hip.

"Never asked for a free shave- you offered last time."

"Well, I'm not offering this time."

"Hey, just be grateful that I didn't ask for a Brazilian wax."

"Hmmm . . . hot wax. We haven't tried that yet." Bakura wrapped a hot towel around Marik's face, and then prepared the soap and blade. He spoke as he shaved. "You know what I love most about giving you a shave? You can't quip back, not with my little friend against your neck."

He used the vanilla rum again, just to smell it on Marik's skin. Bakura found himself leaning far too close.

"You'll have to tell where I can pick up a bottle," Marik whispered.

"I'll text you a link. You should get a blade for yourself. Disposables are vulgar."

Marik grinned. "Not half as vulgar as you."

Bakura realized their lips were almost touching. It was an odd sensation since they'd never kissed. Their noses bumped and Bakura turned away. "Are you going to be at the club tonight?"

"Hmmm . . . maybe. Eleven?"

"Come to my house at nine."

Marik chuckled. "I have a feeling we won't make it to the club if I do that."

"Why waste the money on their shit booze? I don't need _social_ lubrication."

Marik pulled his card from his wallet. "Okay. Nine. Your place. Cook me dinner."

"You're such a high maintenance bitch." Bakura grabbed the card and went to the cash register.

He followed Bakura to the counter. "I tip enough to deserve dinner."

"Fine. Fine." Bakura handed Marik his receipt. "I'll toss something together."

Bakura didn't like the way Marik smiled at him before he left; it was too cheerful. He also didn't like the way he kept checking the clock until it was time to go home, or how jittery he felt as he shopped for their dinner. He decided on shrimp cocktail so he could make it ahead of time, store it in the fridge, and simply allow it to get to room temperature right before Marik arrived.

He lit candles, but only because he wanted to suggest the hot wax thing again, and he chilled champagne, but only because Marik bitched less after a drink or two. As Bakura got ready he combed his long, wild hair with his fingers, staring at himself in the mirror. It was tempting to leave it down just to see Marik's reaction, but he'd never let a lover see his hair down before, and Marik was nothing more than a good time, so Bakura french-braided it and then put on a pair of comfortable jeans. He didn't expect to stay dressed for long so he didn't bother with his outfit too much, and he slipped a sample sized bottle of lube into his pocket because he wasn't expecting to make it to the bedroom either.

Bakura heard a knock on the door, and forced himself to walk- instead of jog- to answer it. Marik's eyes pierced his view as soon as the door swung aside.

"Hey," Bakura said, stepping aside and letting Marik through.

"Hey," Marik echoed as Bakura shut the door. Marik reached out, winding his fingers down Bakura's braid. "You did your hair different tonight."

Bakura turned around to face Marik, shrugging and staring at his bare feet. "Yeah. Easier to sleep on like this."

"Don't you ever wear it down?"

"When I'm alone."

Marik laughed, but it was almost nervous instead of his usually predatory chuckle. "So that's how I'll know when you fall in love? When you let me see you with your hair down?"

"Idiot, who said anything about falling in love?"

Marik grabbed Bakura's chin and lifted it up. Bakura narrowed his eyes, wondering at the odd, almost romantic gesture, but Marik didn't care. He stepped in, tilted his head, and kissed Bakura's mouth. Bakura heard himself moan, and dug his nails into his palms to help keep himself under control, but there was no control to keep. Marik slammed Bakura against the wall of the entranceway and lifted him up. Bakura chunked his glasses to the floor and wrapped his arms around Marik's shoulders and his legs around Marik's waist without question or complaint. He realized it was their first kiss- their first kisses because they hadn't stopped. Their lips began to burn, but they didn't stop. Their clothes began to pile onto the floor, but they didn't stop.

"Pocket," Bakura muttered between quick catches of each other's mouth as Marik set him down to strip him of his pants.

Marik reached into Bakura's pocket, realized he held a bottle of lube, and paused to catch his breath, grease up his cock, and say. "I like how you never really plan much, but you're always prepared when anything happens."

Bakura shrugged, and grinned, and tried to go to the couch, but Marik lifted him up and slammed him against the wall a second time. Their mouths connected again, and Marik used gravity and Bakura's body weight to drop Bakura onto Marik's cock without preparation.

Bakura broke their kisses to steal a sharp breath at the sudden fire in his gut. He dug his fingers into Marik's shoulders. He could still smell the aftershave in Marik's skin. Bakura panted against Marik's shoulder as Marik started to move.

"Fa-faster," Bakura pleaded.

Marik stepped closer, re-adjusting his angle so he could thrust faster. He held Bakura's ass with one hand and used the other to run up and down the side of Bakura's body. Bakura held on, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering curses to keep himself from moaning.

"You'll have to- finish- yourself." Marik gasped between words. "I'd drop you."

Bakura grunted, as if in protest, but he continued to hold Marik's shoulders. "Not yet."

"Yeah? Enjoying this?"

"Shut-up. Can't talk." Bakura shook his head. He really was enjoying himself, too much to listen to Marik. He wanted to focus on the sound of their bodies smacking together, and on their harsh breaths, and the way Marik always seemed to drag against Bakura's prostate as he slipped in and out of Bakura's body. He let the excitement and heat build, until Bakura was almost undone by the mere brush of Marik's belly rubbing against his cock. Then Bakura grabbed himself, and used shallow jerks of his hand to make himself come.

They staggered to the floor as soon as he was done. Marik lay Bakura on his back and hitched one of Bakura's ivory legs over up over his copper shoulder. Bakura tugged on Marik's hair when Marik shouted out in orgasm. Afterward they lay stacked together on the carpet.

"What's for dinner?" Marik asked, although he still gasped for breath.

"Shrimp cocktail."

"Did you make that because it had the word _cock_ in it?"

"Yes. Why else?"

Marik chuckled. "Is it ready?"

"On the table."

Marik got up, slipped his clothes back on, and walked to the kitchen as if excited. Bakura didn't move. He felt like a jellyfish, boneless, floating in a current. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts wandering from Marik to sex to a conversation they'd had three weeks ago.

"Bakura!"

"I'm coming!" Bakura shouted back, rolling over and grabbing his clothes. He carried them to the bathroom and cleaned up before dressing and meeting Marik in the kitchen.

"Coming, were you?" Marik said as soon as he saw Bakura. "I thought you'd already done so."

"Ha, ha."

Marik nodded to the candles. "That's sweet."

Bakura frowned at them. "I wanted you to melt them over my chest, but you already fucked up that plan."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I fuck up that plan? Didn't hear you complain at the time."

Bakura popped a shrimp into his mouth, getting the champagne and pouring a glass for each of them. "All I'm saying is that you owe me."

"Another night with you? Hmmm . . . I don't know. You're pretty annoying."

"Well, your only redeeming quality is between your legs."

"I'd say the same to you, but that only applies when I'm inside you."

"Tell me, Marik, is that a silk top you're wearing?"

Marik nodded, sipping from his champagne glass.

"Then you'd better shut the fuck up and let me eat in peace. Cocktail sauce isn't easy to clean out of silk."

Marik started to laugh. Bakura scowled for as long as he could, but ended up laughing with Marik. They ate, and then wandered back into the living room, sitting on Bakura's couch a little closer than they usually sat.

"What time do you want to go to the club?" Bakura asked.

"That place bores me." Marik waved his hand as if the thought of the club offended him. "Let's stay here. I'm sure you can think of something with which to entertain me."

"I'm your hairdresser, not your fool."

"Of course, fools are actually supposed to be witty. You wouldn't last as one."

"I'm playing video games," Bakura said it as if to insult Marik. "Don't like it, then you can get the fuck out."

He grabbed his controller and turned on his old Super NES. He happened to have Legend of Gaia in, so he decided to carry on from his last save. He expected Marik to leave, or at least bitch, but the blonde rested his head on Bakura's shoulder and began to watch.

Bakura felt his cheeks heat up, and it was uncharacteristic of him to react in such a way. The moment felt like a daydream he might have had as a teenager, something he'd had given up on years ago.

After twenty minutes, Bakura paused the game. "Bored yet?"

Marik looked up at Bakura, a slight grin on his face. "Not really."

"Oh," Bakura said, and continued with his game.

He felt weird, an hour later when he'd finished playing and Marik was still curled up against him. He'd dated, had partners, even let one stay the night from time to time, but no one had ever cuddled on the couch with him. The control pad fell out of Bakura's hands and he felt his arms wrap around Marik and pull him closer so they could both recline sideways on the couch together.

Marik closed his eyes and smiled. Bakura didn't know what to do after a few minutes, so he did the only thing he could think of, massage Marik's temples. Marik leaned into the touch and sighed the moment Bakura's fingers touched him. He started at the temples, worked his way across Marik's scalp, and continued down his neck and to his shoulders.

When Bakura finally pulled back, Marik opened his eyes. "Lay on your stomach. I'll rub your shoulders."

"What?"

"I mean, it's only fair, right?"

"I . . . I'm fine."

"Come on, Kura. Let me have my turn."

"If you _ever_ give me a cutesy sounding nickname again, I will cut you the next time you get a shave."

Marik only laughed, and for some reason Bakura took off his shirt and laid on his stomach just as Marik had wanted him to do. Marik's hands felt warm against Bakura's shoulders. The heat soaked into Bakura's skin as Marik kneaded out the stress of the day from Bakura's body. He was already relaxed from their earlier bout, but the shoulder rub made Bakura all but sink into the couch cushions.

Perhaps that was why, when Marik flipped on the tv with the remote and lay beside Bakura on the couch, Bakura simply wrapped his arms around Marik's stomach and watched television with Marik instead of complaining that Marik needed to leave. Even when Bakura's eyes started to shut on their own and he was more asleep than awake, Bakura found himself holding Marik, and not suggesting the other male leave.

"If I don't go, I'm going to fall asleep," Marik said.

"Not my problem," Bakura answered, having no intention of letting go.

"It is your problem if I fall asleep on your couch."

"I've spent the night in worse places than on my own sofa."

Marik laughed. "Why does that not surprise me? At least toss the blanket over us."

Bakura grabbed the fleece throw he'd used on Marik that first night when they'd come back to his place drunk. He made sure it covered both of them before closing his eyes, only thinking about how warm Marik felt pressed against him, and how good that damn vanilla rum aftershave smelled on Marik's skin.

* * *

Another two weeks and Bakura found himself tied with silk scarves to Marik's bed. A blindfold kept him from seeing anything, but he could hear the flick of a zippo lighter. The room smelt like coconut and incense, and some foreign pop band played in the background. Bakura licked his lips, the anticipation grating on his nerves.

"Hurry up already."

"Why? Do you have other plans for tonight?" Marik's voice was low and sultry. Bakura could tell, just by the tone, that he was having a little too much fun watching Bakura tied up and waiting.

"Fine, Marik, keep me waiting, and the next time you come in for an appointment you better bring a magazine because you'll be sitting- _fuck_!" Bakura hissed as wax splattered over his nipple. It burned, but at the same time it ignited his nerves.

Bakura arched upwards as another drizzle of searing wax hit his skin. He felt the pull of the wax as it cooled and hardened. A third round had Bakura breathing heavy, and a fourth had him humming. He felt Marik's fingers snapping off dried wax from Bakura's white skin, using his tongue to cool the irritated spots. He repeated the cycle, a few rounds of molten wax and then the soothing feel of Marik's tongue. He trailed down from Bakura's chest to his belly, and even his thighs.

Then Bakura felt warmth on his dick and he flinched, expecting pain, but it was Marik's mouth rolling down Bakura's erection and sucking its way back up. Bakura fought his restraints, wanting to grab Marik's head and shove it lower down his cock, but Marik had tied the knots well and Bakura couldn't escape.

As Marik sucked, he prepped Bakura with two fingers. Then he began popping a string of anal beads up Bakura's asshole one pearl at a time. Bakura called out each time another ball slipped inside him. They started small, but grew in size and the last one had Bakura moaning.

"You're such a slut," Marik purred out the words before dropping his mouth back down on Bakura's cock.

Bakura didn't deny it. His entire body tingled from the wax treatment, and he wanted Marik badly enough to beg for it, but he held his breath and hitched his hips up instead, trying to reach up into the back of Marik's throat.

Marik sped up, dragging Bakura close to the edge and then pulling the first bead out. Bakura screamed in pleasure. A spike of electricity trilled up and down his center. It was like a mild orgasm without actually coming. Marik slowed down again, making Bakura whimper from want of release.

After a minute he sped up once again, pulling another bead from Bakura's ass. Again he screamed, arching his back and twitching in Marik's mouth. The third bead had Bakura screaming Marik's name, and the last time, when Marik pulled all the remaining beads out, Bakura came so hard that bright webbings of light flashed behind his blind eyes.

Then Marik was in him and moving fast. Bakura would have clung to him, but he was still tied up. He lifted his head up, pressing his lips against Marik's chest and kissing any patch of skin his mouth could reach.

"Oh Kura, Kura," Marik chanted as he pounded into Bakura's flesh.

He didn't protest the nickname, couldn't. The scent of Marik was everywhere. His sweat, his natural body musk, the aftershave that he wore daily after Bakura had given him a bottle. Bakura sucked in breath after breath, trying to hold in the memory of Marik's scent before each exhale. He felt the head of Marik's cock swell as he drew close. He was so hard and ramming so fast that Bakura had to consciously relax to take the entirety of Marik's length.

A deep-throated groan burst from Marik's mouth as his rhythm teetered and then stopped. Bakura felt a single drop of sweat hit his chest. It tickled as it rolled down his side.

Marik slipped off the blindfold first, and then freed Bakura's hands. "Are you going to spend the night?" Marik asked the second Bakura was free, as if he feared Bakura would vanish like a carriage at midnight.

"Can I use your shower?"

"Sure."

Bakura shrugged. "I'm off this weekend. We rotate at the shop, so I can stay."

Marik exhaled. "Good, that's . . . good."

Bakura snicked. "Why? Miss me when I'm gone?"

"A little," Marik whispered the confession, looking away.

Bakura opened his mouth to tease him, but had no voice for it. When he did speak, he said. "Come by tomorrow, then."

Marik glanced at Bakura. His lavender eyes brighter than normal. "Yeah? I'm not cramping your style?"

"You always cramp my style. Fortunately I'm so goddamn fabulous that I can work around you."

Marik laughed. "Fucking asshole."

"Stupid bitch." He grinned, pushing himself up onto his shaky legs and stumbling to the bathroom.

He still had patches of wax here and there, and he flaked it onto Marik's bathroom floor as he used the toilet. He figured it served Marik right for not taking it off himself. After his shower, Bakura returned to Marik's bedroom and realized Marik had changed the sheets, the old set probably splattered with stray wax.

"You didn't use all the hot water, did you?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. My turn." Marik left the room.

Having nothing better to do, Bakura turned down his half of the bed so he could lay down. He realized there was something beneath his pillow. Investigating, he noticed a notecard and a Hershey's kiss. The card read _You're an asshole. Maybe this will help sweeten you up_.

Bakura smiled, running his finger across the little flag of paper rising from the silver foil. How fucking stupid, Marik was stupid, why was he eating the damn candy?

"Found it already?" Marik asked, already out of the shower and wrapped in a towel.

"Got any more?" Bakura asked.

Marik nodded, pulling an entire bag from out of his dresser drawer. He dropped it onto the bed between them, and they lay there, eating chocolate and indulging in idle conversation. After they'd made a respectable dent in the bag, Marik tossed it on his dresser, scooped all the little wrappers into the wastebin, and turned off the lights. A nightlight kept the room from being completely dark, but it was dim, and Marik was nearby, so Bakura had no trouble falling asleep.

* * *

The next day, Bakura made manicotti. He paced across the living room as he waited for Marik. When he answered the door, Marik frowned.

"You hair's in a bun again. I liked the braid better."

Bakura gave him a coy shrug. "I wanted the bun. It gives me an ice queen look, don't you think?"

Marik snorted. "Yeah, but _I_ know better than that." He grinned, looking away. "I know you way better than that by now, you fucking nerd." Marik took a deep breath. "Smells good."

Bakura gave his lips a seductive lick. "Then come and get it."

He usually had a voracious appetite, but for some reason Bakura picked at his food. Their conversation flowered smooth and easy as always. They had rapids of argument here and there, but that always made the trip more exciting. Nevertheless, an odd tension clung to the air. Bakura felt conscious of his body and his mannerisms in a way he never had before. He kept catching quick glances of Marik, and each time Marik was already looking at him.

They ate mint chocolate chip ice cream for dessert. Bakura wasn't usually the dessert type, but he wanted the mint to help battle the garlic from their dinner. He still found himself sneaking off to the bathroom to brush his teeth as Marik finished eating. It was weird. He'd never cared before, but for some reason he cared that night.

Marik wasn't in the kitchen when he returned. The dishes had been rinsed and set into the dishwasher and the table had been cleared. Bakura wandering into the living room. "Marik?"

"In the bedroom!" Marik called.

His answer made Bakura's stomach twitch. He felt blood rushing down at the thought of Marik and the bed. He walked down the hall. Marik lay naked and grinning on top of Bakura's bed. He could have been a spoiled cat, or a king, or a god, by the way he grinned at Bakura.

"Why don't you take off your clothes?" Marik whispered.

Bakura nodded, setting his glasses next to his vanity mirror. He dropped his pants, and flung off his shirt, making a quick show of the act. The last thing Bakura did was reach up and yank the chop stick out of his hair. An avalanche of white cascaded down his shoulders and back.

Marik's mouth dropped and his eyes widened. "Oh my god . . . why do you hide how beautiful you are?"

"I find that when I do, people are more honest."

Marik raised up his hand, as if to touch Bakura although they were too far apart. "May I?"

Bakura laughed. "You. Polite. See what I mean?"

"Shut-up you fucking asshole and get your white ass over here so I can use that luscious white hair of yours like reins."

Bakura grinned, walking to the bed and sitting next to Marik. "That's more like it."

Marik reached out, but instead of touching Bakura's hair, he cupped Bakura's face. Bakura blinked, frowning as if he didn't understand the gesture. Marik pulled them closer, kissing Bakura's face. His hair tickled their faces, so Marik tucked it behind Bakura's ears before going back to lips.

"Stop it," Bakura hissed.

"Bite me."

Bakura responded by taking the suggestion literally, biting Marik's bottom lip, and then biting his throat. _That_ caused Marik's fingers to tug at Bakura's hair, using them as reins as he had promised. Bakura continued to suck at Marik's neck.

"Mmmm . . . Bakura, how do you want it?"

He growled into Marik's throat, nipping down the side and to his shoulders. He pushed Marik down into the mattress and crawled on top of him, straddling him. "I put the lube under the pillow."

Marik reached behind him, fishing for the clear bottle and handing it over to Bakura. Bakura shimmied down. He lowered his mouth over Marik's cock with coating his own fingers with lubricant. Marik lifted up his head to watch Bakura suck and prepare himself at the same time. Bakura's cheeks began to grow rosy. He pulled away and situated himself above Marik's hips.

Marik moaned before Bakura even descended. The sight alone was enough to make Marik's breath hitch, and when Bakura finally lowered himself over Marik's shaft, warm and tight, Marik's eyes fluttered shut and his head lulled back. "Oh damn."

Bakura snorted. He looked happier than normal; the grin on his face was good-natured instead of sardonic. Marik found himself returning the smile, gazing up at Bakura. His hand reached out again. He wrapped his fingers around Bakura's shaft and started teasing him. Bakura bit his bottom lip, bouncing up and down over Marik's cock. His hair fluttered around his face and shoulders. Bakura hunched forward, sighing and resting his hands on Marik's toned chest for balance. His hair hung low, tickling Marik's skin.

Marik shifted his hips upward, timing each rise of his hips with the strokes of his hand. Bakura's mouth dropped open. He sucked in hard breaths, huffing out quick exhales. His eyelashes fluttered as he started to rock his body as quickly as possible. His rhythm derailed, allowing Marik to take greater charge, thrusting up and stroking until Bakura spilled out onto Marik's flat, sculpted belly.

Marik sat up, wrapping his arms around Bakura and shifting their position until Bakura lay on his back. He kissed along Bakura's collarbone, returning the bites Bakura had given Marik earlier. He re-entered Bakura and began slow, relishing, _relishing_ every brush of nerves and skin. Bakura wrapped his arms around Marik's back, lifting up his head so that he could press his forehead against Marik's chest. Marik settled down, their bodies pressed together as he held Bakura's shoulders. He thrust- thrust- and held as all the tension poured out of his body along with his seed. They fell asleep in each other's arms before either one of them could think of something sarcastic to say.

When Marik opened his eyes, it was morning. Light pushed through the slits in the blinds. Bakura lay next to him, brushing his fingers along Marik's lower jaw.

"Morning," Marik muttered.

"Hey," Bakura whispered back.

"I need a shower. Wanna join?"

Bakura nodded his head, looking thoughtful. "Can I give you a shave?"

Marik tucked a ribbon of long, white hair behind Bakura's ear. "You're not working."

"I know . . . but it's sexy."

"Shaving people?"

"You, stupid. It's only sexy when it's you."

"Oh?" Marik grinned. "Is that why I got a freebie? That first time?"

"Maybe."

"Was it the eyes?"

"I'm not going to inflate your ego, Marik. It's huge enough without me making it worse."

"Definitely the eyes, then."

"It's because you wouldn't quit," Bakura whispered, letting go of Marik and rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

"No," Marik agreed. "When I want something, I don't quit until I get it."

Marik took a moment to watch Bakura. His hair bunched around his pillow and fanned out across the sheet. Marik grabbed his cellphone off of the nightstand and snapped a picture.

"What the fuck?"

"I want to remember this morning." Marik stared at the photo, grinning.

"It's just another morning."

"No it's not. It's the morning I finally got what I really wanted."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "A bad cellphone pic of me?"

Marik set the phone aside. Leaning over Bakura and staring at his face. "Not the picture- you."

Bakura looked a little shocked. "You don't want this with me. I'm an asshole."

Marik grinned. "You sure are. The sky's blue, too."

"I'm not joking, Marik. I'm-"

Marik smashed their mouths together, holding Bakura's face so he couldn't turn away. Marik pulled away, boring into Bakura's eyes with an intense look. "Stop. Hiding."

Bakura tried to turn away, but Marik still held him. "Fuck you, I'm not hiding. I just-"

"The glasses, the up-do's, the sarcasm. I've worked in a casino all my life. I know how to read a poker face. Bakura, I . . ." Marik sighed. "I'm not going to quit you."

Bakura closed his eyes, nodding his head.

Marik let go of Bakura's face, combing Bakura's mane of hair with his fingers. "Can I wash it?"

"What?"

"Well, you wash hair all day long, but has anyone ever washed yours?"

Bakura shook his head no. "I do it myself."

Marik grinned at that. "Then let me."

Bakura snorted like he was indifferent, but he looked slightly flushed. "Sure. Why not?"

* * *

Marik began with a quick shoulder rub to loosen the tension in Bakura's body. Bakura pressed his hands against the shower wall and gave Marik a few, appreciative grunts as Marik's fingers worked into Bakura`s flesh. When he felt relaxed, Marik grabbed his shampoo and worked the white lather into the white strands.

Bakura tilted his head back, giving Marik full control over his body. "I'm so glad you don't use some crap brand of shampoo. I'd leave you."

"Liar, you wouldn't leave me. You'd buy me better shampoo."

"I'd charge you for it during your next hair cut too- _aaah_."

Marik nudged his erection against Bakura's backside, all the kneading and massaging was working him up. He stepped closer so he could taunt Bakura's smooth skin one more time, and then rinsed the suds out of Bakura's hair.

Their lips met within a cloud of steam. Marik pushed Bakura against the tiled wall, pinning his left wrist above his head and keeping his other hand on Bakura's chest. Each time they parted to breathe, Marik thought one of them would say something snarky and pull away, but before either of them could form words their lips were pressed back together. Marik slid their wet erections together, but the movement was languid. He focused on their mouths, and then Marik realized his back was covered in gooseflesh, and he was shivering from cold because the hot water ran out some time ago.

"Dammit, Bakura." Marik turned off the water and snatched the towels from the wall rack. "You made me use up all the hot water."

"Wait, excuse me? _I_ did? Hello? Who had me pinned against the wall? I didn't make you do a damn thing," Bakura argued as he dried his hair.

Marik jerked the towel out of Bakura's hand and tossed it to the floor. He pressed Bakura against the wall again, kissed him again.

"I was going to give you shave."

"Later," Marik said between kisses.

Bakura raised his hand up to a jut of hair sticking out at the top "My hair needs-"

Marik grabbed Bakura's hand and curled his fingers around their still-hard cocks. Then he tangled his fingers in the damp strands of white. "This is all it needs." He bit Bakura's throat.

"What was the point of the shower?" Bakura murmured between their pressed lips, although he didn't let go of their cocks.

"Shut-up. Shut-up. Shut-up, I swear can you go five minutes without bitching? I'm trying to make sweet, passionate love to you, asshole."

Bakura started laughing. It was almost happy instead of cynic. "Okay. Okay." He bit his lower lip, looking down as if too shy to face Marik. "Then carry me to the bedroom like this is one of those crap romance movies on tv."

Marik grinned. He scooped Bakura into his arms and did just that.


End file.
